


Juxtaposition

by 1lostone



Category: The OA (TV), the OA
Genre: Character Study, Episode Related, Episode three: Champion, F/M, Gen, One-Sided Attraction, i blame jlm for everything
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-21
Updated: 2016-12-21
Packaged: 2018-09-10 22:17:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8941543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/1lostone/pseuds/1lostone
Summary: Hap's thoughts after the end of episode 3.





	

He didn’t mean to hit her so hard.

Hap tried to catch his breath, staring with growing horror at the blood slowly staining the back of Prairie's blond hair.  

_-is your hair different?-_

Hap swallowed hard. He crouched down and felt with shaking fingers for a pulse. The skin of her neck felt paper-thin, but the slow, steady proof of life made him hiss out a breath. The relief of finding a pulse was nearly as debilitating as the mad chase to hunt, to find to _get her back._

Staring off the edge of the mine’s ravine mad Hap feel a little dizzy.  Realizing how close Prairie had come to pitching- well, _blindly-_ off the edge filled him with a sick, squirming guilt. He wanted to say that he would feel the same if it had been Scott, or one of the others here in this position, but knew that would be a lie.  It took him a heartbeat or to to find his prized detachment and with a grunt he swung the rifle on its strap so that it was out of his way, reached out, and picked her lithe form up in his arms.

Hap walked back to his house, steadfastly refusing to look down at his too-light burden.  He could feel the puff of her breath against his chin and ignored the uncomfortable squirming in his gut.

He couldn’t fault her for pushing him down the stairs, not really. Hap understood the fight-or-flight response, probably better than most.  

Prairie had no skill at subterfuge. Her hatred of him had been telegraphed on her face, and had Hap not been so _stupid_ as to try to convince her of the importance of his work,  he would not have been caught so by surprise. The sharp shove from someone so slight- even as angry as she was- would not have been enough to send him falling backwards.  Hap had sprawled there like an idiot without even the jeers of his subjects sinking in- not until he heard Homer’s broken, desperate “ _Run_ , Prairie!” that Hap was able to ignore his bruised tailbone and lost breath and start to scramble after her.

He hadn’t expected the feeling of _betrayal_ as he saw her running, tripping over fallen limbs and rocks in her haste to run away. It wasn’t until he saw which direction she had turned that _fear_ had bubbled up in his throat, hot and cloying and he had started running, desperate.

Now though, she was calm. Breathing, but Hap would not know for how long she’d be out until he could examine her. Experience had made him rather confident in knocking out his subjects, but there was always room for error with a head wound.  Frowning, Hap scrambled in his pocket for his phone, uncomfortable with the brush of too-thin protuberance of Prairie’s ribs against his wrist as he felt in his pocket. The screen had cracked, but Hap was able to unlock it and shut off the outside cameras so that the test subjects could not see him bring her back.

Hap ignored the glass from his broken window and made his way through his lab. Habit had him checking the monitors, and his lips twisted to see the three of them look so broken. It would do them good to wonder what if she was hurt, or dead. If not for _his_ insistence that she run

_(from him)_

away...  

Hap paused for a minute and attempted to dredge up some semblance of professionalism. He made a mental note to ask Citro if he had any advice on... attachments to one’s subjects before crossing the hallway and walking up the stairs to his bedroom.

Hap swallowed again when he placed her on his bed. Her hair fanned out, falling limply off the bed, and he stayed just long enough to ensure that she wouldn’t roll off and hurt herself further before hurrying into the bathroom for his first-aid kit. Hap ran downstairs and into the cabinet. He didn’t want to give her a sedative, not with a very obvious head wound, but he would see what he had for pain.

His gaze was caught by the cup of coffee on the counter. Hap didn’t even _like_ coffee, but had wanted her in his kitchen with him, the simple domestic chore comforting in a way that... that... It was just _observation_.  Gathering data for his study. It had nothing to do with the shine of her hair in the weak sunlight, or the soft sounds her graceful hands made as she set about finding the coffee filters and setting the sensor in the cup that would tell her if it was too full.

Hap heard a low, guttural sound from upstairs and cursed, before turning and running back to her, taking the stairs two at a time in his haste. He shouldered open the door and stopped short, eyes widening as he stared at the woman on his bed.

Prairie’s hands moved like a dance, sliding through the air as though directing music maybe, or caressing a lover’s face. Her eyes moved rapidly behind her eyelids, and a slight sheen of sweat covered her body.

The first-aid kit hit the ground with a small _thud._

Was this a NDE? What she experiencing this phenomena right _now_? Hap fumbled for his phone and hit record, watching as she made the low sound again. It almost sounded like a... name. Maybe a place.  

Blood dripped slowly off Prairie’s ear and onto his duvet, but Hap hardly noticed. He would, later, when everything had been recorded, and his observations rigidly catalogued. Later, he would feel guilty for allowing her wound to go untreated, and a mild shame at the knowledge that he had been the one to hurt the fragile, fey creature in front of him.

But that was later.

  
Now, Hap’s focus was on the experience and his single-minded determination to _understand._

**Author's Note:**

> I have no excuse. Blame Jason Isaacs for being a wonderfully creepy, perfect bastard.


End file.
